Whose bones I break bear the ash
Breath first tongued in soot;
Whose back I bare endures the lash
Of days as quick as coals.
Whose tongue I suck between two gasps
Of bare babe's cry and skull's knobbed crack
Vowels a violent void that snaps
Babe, grave and groin in our kisses' black.
Whose wormy, wasted soul I own
Filched infinity from moldy bloods;
Animal and man I dug for sup
And killing and kissing gave forth God.

About the Author

Gregg Glory (Gregg G. Brown)

Gregg Glory [ Gregg G. Brown ] has devoted his life to poetry since happening across a haiku by Moritake, to wit:

Leaves
float back up to the branch--
Ah! butterflies.

He runs the micro-publishing house BLAST PRESS, which has published over two dozen authors in the past 25 years. Named in honor of the wild Vorticist venture by Ezra Pound and Wyndham Lewis, BLAST PRESS is forward-looking and very opinionated.

He still composes poems on his departed father's clipboard, which he's had since High School.